Buried In the Nameless Black
by Nagia
Summary: It's not the housemates that give Sarah problems (not even the goblins). It's the house. Girls Next Door fusion with House of Leaves.
1. the last house on ashtree lane

"Boys chase girls who chase butterflies," Sarah Williams hummed along with her iPod. "Who chase red balloons who chase better skies…"

The wind of the car's passing swept up a skirl of dust, obscuring parts of the woods on either side of Ash Valley Road. It made the world around her look patchy and a little dingy, and with the scattered way the sunlight penetrated the trees, it put her in mind of the Underground's glitter.

Sarah took a deep breath in and let it out on a slow count. She returned her focus to the road, letting her awareness of the woods around her fall away into periphery. Gradually, the road turned from deep black asphalt to something lighter, a paler brown that looked more like pebbled concrete than solid tar. Even more gradually than that, the older part of the road petered out.

By the time she reached the crossroads where — if she went left — Ash Valley Road became Old Ash Valley Road and (if she went right) Ash Valley Road became Ashtree Lane, she was facing a choice between two dirt tracks.

"Turn left onto Ashtree Lane," her GPS informed her. Sarah rolled her eyes.

In the passenger seat, Red cheered and flung up its hands. "Throw GIPS out the window!"

She reached over and patted the goblin on the head, lightly noogieing the mop of red ringlets from which it drew its name. "No, Red. We're not throwing the GPS out the window. And you need to stay out of sight."

Red grumbled, but she ignored it and turned right onto Ashtree. When she didn't say anything else to it, the goblin clambered into her car's backseat and burrowed its way into a cardboard box.

Sarah consulted the handwritten directions. She'd taken them down from Christine over the phone, after a lot of clarifications. Christine had a liquid, musical accent that hinted at French being her first language.

_The last house on Ashtree Lane_, Christine had said.

The last house on Ashtree Lane was a beautiful, Victorian-looking affair. She saw three stories — the top two had balconies; the ground floor had a porch with a poofily upholstered swing — and a pair of shuttered doors hinted at a cellar. The front porch had no screen, but the scrollwork in the columns that held up its roof was too beautiful to mar with a screen, anyway.

Cherry trees shaded the two carports, in which three other cars and a minivan had already parked.

A curly-headed blonde half-flung herself out the door, moving in an elegant, excited spin. She caught herself on one of the porch's columns, turning the spin into half a swing, and then stepped down onto the lawn. She made her way across a gravel-and-grass driveway, straight to Sarah's little Kia.

Sarah rolled down her window.

"You must be Sarah!" The woman spoke in the same lyrical accent Sarah had heard on the phone. "I'm Christine Daae."

"Nice to meet you," Sarah said. She rolled her window back up and opened her car door. She heard Red make a strange squeak and hoped that Christine just assumed it was junk settling in the boxes. "I can't believe I found an open apartment this late in the semester."

And surely not for as cheap as the Ashtree neighborhood was going.

"Come on in, I'll show you which room's yours."

"Wait, just room?"

"This is more like a boarding house than apartment complex. It all used to be one house, you see? So we share the kitchen and laundry room. Every floor has its own bathroom and sitting room. Oh! We're on the third floor."

Sarah looked to her car, packed full of boxes heavy with books, then looked up at the third floor, and sighed.

* * *

The sun had gone down by the time Sarah and Christine had lugged the final box into Sarah's room. The landlady — Marsha — had promised that the rooms came prefurbished. Sarah had expected to ask permission to throw half the furnishings out, or at least in some sort of storage, but the furniture provided was actually tasteful.

Her bedroom's far wall was one huge book case. The dresser was heavy and huge, with plenty of room for clothes. Next to what had to be a walk-in closet stood a floor-length mirror. The bed had a gauzy canopy that could be drawn in close. She'd always dreamed of having a bed like that.

"The netting keeps out mosquitoes if you want to sleep with your window open. It's an old house, sometimes the air conditioner goes out, so having the window open in summer can be nice."

Sarah didn't say that she'd learned to leave her windows locked and the blinds drawn at all times, unless she particularly wanted Jareth to leave feathers and dreambaubles.

Instead, she nodded like she totally planned to try that sometime. And then she asked, "So how many other people live here?"

"Right now just three. I've only met Javert and Jamie, down on the second floor. They've got a real attachment to the first floor living room. And there's someone on the first floor, but we've never come across each other." Christine paused, tilting her head a bit as she thought, and then added, "Marsha says one more is moving in sometime this weekend."

* * *

It turned out that 'Jamie' was James Norrington, who was sharing an apartment with Javert. If Javert had any other names, he seemed disinclined to share them. Then again, Javert just didn't seem to care for company.

Sarah tucked a box of cookies and a box of poptarts into a bare cabinet and then poured peppermints into a tray to leave in the first floor living room. If she kept sweets around the house, she'd probably look a little less suspicious for the candy she was going to have to keep hidden in her room.

Sir Didymus and Hoggle seemed to have a better grasp of the need for subtlety than the goblins who had never quite introduced themselves, like Red. She didn't doubt that Red and his brethren were smart, but they seemed to think Sarah could protect them from everything. The last thing she needed was yet another roommate freaking out about the goblins that always seemed to be lurking about. And that wasn't even going into the amount of creepy the King could bring.

No, the rest of this semester was going to be blissfully goblin drama free.

"So, Sarah, what's your major?" James asked as he tipped a bottle of whiskey into a saucepan already holding a gloppy mixture of tomatoes, garlic, ground beef, and other herbs. The smell it produced was just this side of heavenly.

"Political Science." Sarah gave him a lopsided smile. "I changed it from Musical Theatre."

"That's quite a jump."

"Well, I was dual-majoring at first, but they're so separate and time-consuming, and I can't really see myself on Broadway…" Sarah shrugged. "So I picked one."

Christine laughed. It was a tinkling sound, resplendent with the same sense of rhythm that seemed to inform all of Christine's actions. (Some people were naturally graceful. Some people really clicked with stage movement. In both regards, Christine didn't so much take the cake as own the bakery.) "I knew you were a musical sort! Finally, somebody else musical around here!"

"Javert sings," James said.

Javert looked up from his mug of coffee — black — and said, darkly, "Not often."

"James and the mysterious first floor resident don't sing?" Sarah raised a brow. "But James here was obviously born to be on the big screen."

James blushed. "Nothing so grand, I'm afraid. I teach history."

"He plays piano," Javert added, setting the coffee aside to draw a cigarette case from his pocket. "Not well."

"Harpsichord, and I learned to play as a child. I had little use for it once I was out of my teens."

Javert laughed without any real mirth and opened the cigarette case. He pulled out some thin paper and a small bag of tobacco, then began rolling a cigarette with quick, efficient movements. He ignored the look James shot him.

Sarah searched the other cupboards and found the dishware. She set the table for four, then held out an extra plate. "Is the guy on the first floor going to…?"

"Probably not," Christine said.

"Does the house usually eat together?"

James laughed and carried over a huge pot of spaghetti and his delicious from-scratch meat sauce. "What? Oh no. We've only been here a month. I just thought now that there were four of us, it was time for a housewarming party."

"Better than fruit baskets." Javert finished rolling his cigarette. It was surprisingly straight for hand-rolled, and he'd miraculously avoided spilling even a speck of tobacco on the table.

Sarah tried to imagine how she would have reacted to strangers bringing her fruit.

Dinner was a far, far better idea.

* * *

Sarah probably should have started unpacking her clothes first. Instead, she emptied the box in which Red had hidden onto the bed, then moved on to unpacking her clothes and flinging her class texts and readings onto the desk provided.

That was about where her plan petered out. In a big way.

At first, Red was content to muck around on the bed, generally toying with the various items he'd hidden in. Sarah looked up from her dresser to find him with a colander on his head and a blue kerchief tied around his neck to imitate a cape. The colander had no hope of constraining his unruly hair.

A few moments later, she heard a noise not unlike an increasingly irritated cat. It was a long, low sound, a whine ramping into a growl and curling back again. Not unlike — in her opinion — the sound of a lawnmower.

She turned to find Red staring at the room's farthest corner. He'd abandoned the cape and was holding the colander forth fearfully, like it could shield him from the evil forces of the empty corner.

"Red?"

Red's only reply was the continued whiny growling. His fingers had begun to shake as he held the colander.

"Red, there's nothing there."

Red just kept staring at the corner. At last, he sank to his knees and pulled the colander over his head. It didn't work well to conceal him — he was tall for a goblin, about the size of a three year old human child — but the colander did manage to cover his eyes.

"Red? Seriously, that corner is empty."

"That's what's wrong," he whined from beneath the colander.

"You want me to put the mirror over there?"

Red whine-growled again, then wailed, "It's always empty. It's always hungry. Call the King."

"What?!"

"Call the King." And then the be-colandered goblin began to rock back and forth. "Call the King. Call the King. Call the King."

"What am I supposed to do, huh? Wish that the Goblin King would move into this house?"

But Red didn't answer her. He was too busy rocking and mumbling.

Realizing she'd almost made a wish, Sarah pulled at the blinds, but there was no U-haul nor even an unfamiliar car outside to herald a new arrival.

* * *

Opening line comes from _Red Balloons_ by Goh Nakamura.


	2. a little more respect

Sarah found Christine and James in the kitchen, each curled around a mug of coffee as if it had divine restoration powers. Christine's curly hair was a glorious golden wreck and her eyes had dark smudges under them.

Sarah suspected she looked little better, so she merely mumbled a greeting and made her way to the coffee pot. She poured herself a cup of coffee, then added sugar and a dollop of chocolate syrup from the fridge.

Then she took a seat at the kitchen table and curled around her mug. She stared into the rising steam. Maybe if she thought long enough, she could figure out just what Red had been on about the night before.

After a full minute, she took a sip.

She spluttered, then immediately stood up to add more sugar and a little cream.

James chuckled. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you that Javert brews it strong. I guess I'm used to it."

"God, that's worse than my grandfather's," Sarah said, "and he was Navy."

James looked sharply at her.

"Is Navy coffee not a thing in the UK?"

"Not when I was in it. We did brew our tea strong, though." He smiled a little fondly.

After a few more experimental spoonfuls of sugar, Sarah made her way back to the table and slumped around her coffee again.

Christine surfaced enough from the pre-coffee fog to ask, "Sarah? What was that noise last night?"

Shit. She couldn't blame it on the house; Christine had lived here longer than she had. It was way too early for this.

"My laptop," Sarah said, in a fit of desperate inspiration. "It's been making that noise for a while. I'm pretty sure it's dying."

"Oh! Then you should have Crowley take a look at it." At Sarah's blank look, Christine added, "He's the guy just down the street with the gorgeous garden."

"Don't forget the gorgeous car," James added.

"And unplug it when you're not using it, will you please?" Christine smiled apologetically. "I didn't sleep a wink."

"Sure thing."

Oh god, she was going to have to banish Red back to the Underground.

Sarah smiled weakly and drank her coffee.

* * *

Once she was home from class, Sarah headed across the street. The house was every bit as breathtaking as Marsha's. Polished wood floors, books and plants everywhere. The books were leather-bound or elegantly ancient. The plants were all glossy and green, not a single leaf wilted or bloom faded. The furniture was mostly ultramodern and sleek, but every now and again an antique peeked out at her.

It was all tasteful until he took her to his den, where he kept a sleek computer and huge entertainment center.

He had the most remarkably ugly couch she had ever seen. It was plaid. worse, the plaid's base color looked like puce.

"It's very comfortable," Crowley said.

Sarah just gave a strangled nod.

And Crowley smiled. "You're here for a lie, aren't you, dear?"

"Nope. Just... saying hello to the neighborhood."

His smile turned sharp.

"Oh, don't torture the poor girl," someone said from the doorway.

Sarah turned to look and blinked.

He was Crowley's near exact opposite. Crowley seemed smooth - not in a social sense (well, not just in a social sense), but in the same way all his furniture was smooth.

The man she was looking at was quite obviously the perpetrator of the puce and plaid couch. He was also probably the man behind the antiques. He seemed to embody the word 'fussy.'

"Now, dear, you are quite obviously not only here to chat." The man in plaid and pennyloafers smiled at her, but it was just as sharp and faintly threatening as Crowley's. "I'm Aziraphale."

His parents must have hated him, she thought.

"And I'm Sarah. I, uh, need to go."

* * *

Sarah made it to the porch before she had to stop and stare. No U-haul or car, no. Of course not. No it was much worse and more obvious than that.

The Goblin King had no need of mortal transportation, after all. He only needed hands to spare him the trouble of carrying his things.

A mob of goblins scurried around the front lawn.

And there was the Goblin King, directing them.

* * *

It was like being dumped into an Arctic lake. It was like standing on a precipice above the Bog of Eternal Stench. She was paralyzed and nauseated and afraid and intensely relieved.

There was no hope of a goblin drama free semester.

The shoe had dropped. The secret was out. There wasn't going to be a normal.

And as Sarah relaxed into the idea that the worst had happened, she began to notice something odd.

Every goblin who entered the house with a box did so with the usual abstracted cheer. Every goblin who returned from the house was making Red's angry cat lawnmower whine.

And the Goblin King hadn't yet set foot there. Instead, he directed a baggage train of goblins, banishing each one back to the Underground when the whining became too much to bear.

Sarah watched intently. The pattern repeated itself again and again: happy goblin went in with a box, angrily frightened goblin returned empty-handed, the Goblin King banished it.

All right. There was nothing for it.

"What's upsetting them, Goblin King?" She'd leave the 'why are you here' grilling for later.

"Sarah." The Goblin King let his mouth linger over the word, caressing each sound.

Nobody ever had said her name quite like he did.

"Not now," she said, letting her tone fall flat. "What's bothering them so badly? Red kept me up half the night begging me to call you and making that exact noise."

"The house seems to throw off their magic," the Goblin King said. After a moment, he added, "You _did_ call me, you know."

"I didn't even -"

"Not in the exact words, no. But even a rhetorical question can be a wish when it's something you want to happen."

Sarah debated between needling him about his reluctance to enter the house and squashing the idea that she'd wanted him there.

One of these, she knew, was a lost cause. So she went with 'taunt.'

"I notice you haven't been inside yet."

He arched an eyebrow, then drawled, as if lazy, "Why should I?"

"Curiosity?"

"That's a mortal failing." He turned his lopsided gaze back to the house, watching with an intensity that was anything but lazy. "What's said is said, what's done is done, what is... simply is, precious."

Bullshit, she thought. He was at least nervous about the house, if not every bit as terrified and angry as his subjects.

"How can a house throw off goblin magic? I've never lived any place that did that before."

"Any number of reasons. Ley lines, old curses, bad feng shui, too much iron around, allegiance to a different court..."

Feng shui? Iron?

"So the iron thing is true? And what would a fae know about feng shui, anyway?"

Jareth only gave her a half-smirk.

A man in a half-mask emerged from the house. He stood on the porch, staring intently at both the King and his goblins.

After a moment, he demanded, "Who are you, and where have those vicious little things taken my organ?"

The Goblin King snapped his fingers. "Dwold, where is the pipe organ?"

A goblin with a thatch of grayish hair, rather like someone had dropped dull gray straw on its head, looked up at its King and said, "Under."

The Goblin King tilted his head. "It is under the house."

The masked man on the porch clenched his hands into fists. "Who are you, and how dare you remove my organ?"

"I'm Jareth, King of the Goblins and your new roommate. The organ was in my room. I moved it." And then Jareth's tone changed to one she knew all too well. "I've been generous enough not to dismantle it and leave it in the sitting room."

The other man narrowed the eye Sarah could see, then turned and strode back into the house.

He was wearing an opera cape. It fluttered balefully when he moved.

Any intimidation she might have felt abruptly vanished. In fact, the only thing that could bring her down - beyond Jareth's presence - was wondering what Christine's reaction would be.

* * *

As always, there's a prettier version up at the AO3, in which _house_ always appears in blue, _wish_ always appears in red, and _kin__g_ sometimes appears in purple.


	3. for faerie tales

Someone had knocked out the walls separating the kitchen from the formal dining room - though Sarah saw folded partitions leaning up against one wall. The kitchen table was huge, rectangular, and traversed the two spaces.

James, Javert, the masked man, and Christine all sat at the table. No one had bothered with dinner. Javert sat nearest the window, which he'd cracked open, presumably so he could smoke.

Red had a chair of his own. He looked like an unstrung puppet, limbs splayed and head lolling. His unruly mop of curls dangled. Every so often, he would kick his legs, tiny feet flopping ineffectually in the air.

His strange growl-whine, however, remained constant.

"Your laptop?" Christine asked.

Sarah sighed. "I'm sorry. I... I just wanted to avoid the goblin drama for the rest of the semester. Between the little guys like Red and the Goblin King's antics -"

"I see." Javert looked to the surprisingly tall goblin. "They're why you needed new lodgings so suddenly."

"You could have just said something." Christine waved her hand in the direction of the first floor living room. "Before we had this on our hands."

Something on the first floor went _crash_. Goblins shrieked.

Jareth chose that instant to appear. Of course he did. One moment, Sarah had been facing the music alone. The next, everything in the room seemed shinier.

And then there was a fine layer of glitter on every available surface, and the Goblin King stood at her elbow.

"_That_," said the masked man, "cannot continue."

Jareth assumed an aura of innocence. Sarah refused to dignify his arrival with any notice, nevermind look at him, but she could feel the words_Why, whatever do you mean?_ gathering in the air.

"Glitter-poofing, Goblin King," Sarah said, suddenly feeling exhausted. "It's messy and your roommate hates it."

"I thought you found it charming, precious thing," Jareth murmured.

"Don't pull the generosity act with me, Jareth." She turned to face him, watched his eyebrows jerk up at the familiarity. It only made her angrier. He wasn't used to being addressed casually? Tough. "You don't get to play the 'generosity' _or_ the 'wish' cards right now. You weren't supposed to follow me. You _chose_ to follow me. I didn't wish you were here. Now that you are, you're going to act like a civilized person."

"I have never been anything but civil."

"Not today, you haven't. It's impolite to move people's things without talking to them. Actually, it's theft, but we'll let that slide. It's not polite to bring a bunch of minions who break other people's things. It's not polite to just magically appear in the middle of a conversation and bring a room-full of glitter that has to be cleaned up."

Jareth's eyes narrowed.

He was building up steam for a _You dare to think you command me_ spiel.

Sarah opened her mouth to try and stop the angry Goblin King rant before it started, but James spoke. He didn't raise his voice, but he didn't need to. His normal speaking tone had taken on a note of command.

"Enough, the both of you."

Sarah and Jareth both turned to face him.

"I am given to understand you are a King. Doubtless you are used to certain modes of address and treatment from your subjects. We are not your subjects, and will not behave as such. Inasmuch as it is practical, we will observe the courtesies due your rank." James's eyes narrowed. "In return, you will behave with common courtesy to us. For one, you will refrain from..."

Javert finished the sentence for him. "The glitter. Or you'll clean it up after yourself. And control your subjects. It's unlawful to move or destroy the property of others."

Sarah felt Jareth relax next to her. She tensed, turning her head slightly to catch a glimpse of his face.

A slow, sharp smile curled along his mouth. "An acceptable bargain."

Jareth snapped his fingers. The glitter vanished.

Then he turned to Sarah.

She backed away a step. The words were on the tip of her tongue, ready and waiting to be said. _My will is as strong as yours-_

* * *

She never got a chance to say it. She scarcely had time to blink before they were standing on the third floor balcony.

No, nothing so mundane as the balcony. They were standing on its railing.

Sarah took a look down, swallowed, and forced herself not to scream before she climbed down to safety.

Jareth remained on the railing for a moment, unconcerned by wind or gravity. He stepped off and drifted down to stand in front of her. His cloak wafted in a breeze that sprang up soundlessly.

Sarah idly wondered if he'd called it, but his gaze on her was intense. It didn't take long for her to feel trapped by his regard.

"Why are you _here_?"

"You brought me up here. I assume you wanted a private chat?" Sarah folded her arms across her chest. "And by the way, don't do that again. If you want to take me somewhere, ask first."

"But if I ask you, precious thing, you'll say no."

Sarah gave him a hard stare, managing not to shout _That was the point_. "Did you mean this house?"

"Why, my Sarah? Why _this_ place, of all places?"

"Because it's twenty minutes from campus, it has a vacancy when I need one, and it's affordable."

"Still worrying about money?" He looked puzzled. "You are aware it's no object."

"For my classes. Landlords tend to want money more than once a year." That brought her up short. "Jareth... are you actually paying rent here, or did you just decide to mess with that masked guy?"

The look of puzzlement turned to one of satisfied amusement.

Sarah could feel a headache coming on.

Jareth reached out and caught her by the arm. She looked up at him, startled.

"Come away with me, Sarah." The breeze pulled at his cloak and hair. "You can find someplace better."

"I like this house. And the housemates seem pretty okay, too."

"It's dangerous. My goblins cannot survive here long. My magic can only be used in parts of this house."

"Survive?"

"Red," Jareth said, tone suddenly dangerously soft, "will never be the same. No goblin can live here long-term."

"You don't plan on staying," she breathed. "You really were just messing with the guy on the first floor."

Her stomach did a flop that could have been a relieved, overjoyed swoop... or she could have been confusing that with the sudden sink of disappointment.

"I am not a goblin," he said. "If you stay, I will stay."

Her stomach failed to flop. Her heart failed to sink.

"I see," she said with a mouth that had gone desert-dry.

"I will even abide by these decrees your housemates have set out." The pitch and cant of his voice as he said the word _decrees_ made it clear just how ridiculous he thought they were being.

Well, he was fae. He didn't run on the same logic the rest of them did. Glitter and glamor and teleportation and games and riddles were all just part and parcel of who he was.

"A generous bargain," she said.

"Oh? If you offer me some trifle in return, when I have struck a deal already, I'm a lucky man." He arched a brow and stepped closer. "Or shall I name the trade?"

It couldn't hurt to sweeten the deal. So Sarah took a step forward. She tilted her head just slightly and said, soft enough that he had to lean toward her a little to hear, "You choose, Goblin King."

Jareth took one final step, briding the gap between them. He trailed his gloved fingers along her cheek.

Something inside her chest squeezed, as if strangled, and then began to thump like a frightened rabbit. But she held her ground. She couldn't advance, but she sure wasn't going to retreat.

She was done retreating from the Goblin King.

"So long as we live here..." Jareth murmured against her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed. "...Never call me by title again, unless you let me call you Goblin Queen."

Sarah jerked back, eyes opening in surprise.

Jareth smiled.

"Is that a proposal?!"

He gave her a flat look. "It would hardly be my first offer. But no. Simply finding a way to place us on equal footing, Sarah."

"Why would you want to be on equal footing with me?"

"Many reasons." He gave her lopsided smile that matched his lopsided gaze. "But I'm not going to tell you. I've got to be stingy about something, after all."

Sarah rolled her eyes. No glitter (or at least cleaned up glitter), no breaking things, no glitter-poofing around was a pretty good deal for just calling him by his name.

And she'd just have to make very sure that she never called him by title.

"Then we have a bargain, Jareth."

"Seal it with a kiss?"

She folded her arms and gave him the stinkiest eye she could manage. He didn't even have the grace to look sheepish.

So she turned and walked back into the house through the balcony door.

* * *

Dinner that night wound up being another whole-house affair. James didn't cook; instead, Sarah and Christine headed into town to pick up Chinese.

"I'm sorry I lied to you," Sarah said as they headed onto Ash Valley Road.

"I know." Christine sighed. She blew a few strands of hair out of her face. After a moment, she said, "I understand why you did it. Any otherhousemates would have thought you were crazy."

"But not you."

"Well, we did end up with proof that you weren't making it up. Not to mention, everybody in our neighborhood has secrets."

"Seriously?"

"Okay, I'll tell you mine. I'm an opera singer. I've been an opera singer since the 1830's. And Erik - the masked man from the first floor, the one I hadn't run into? We know each other from the Opera Populaire."

A French opera singer from the 1830's. It was so insane that Sarah almost didn't know how to process it.

But it wasn't like she could judge. Her life was weird enough. What was a little extra weird?

"Seriously? Why didn't he just let you know he was in the building?"

Christine's tentative smile vanished. She bit her lip for a moment before quietly saying, "Because he did some terrible things when I knew him. Today, it'd be called stalking and Stockholme Syndrome. And he was even worse to the rest of the opera house."

"He's still stalking you, isn't he?"

Christine's grip on the steering wheel tightened for a moment. That was all Sarah needed.

* * *

Javert and Jareth met them at the front of the house. Javert picked up a big paper bag full of containers. Jareth merely rolled his eyes and waved a hand.

Javert's only reaction to his armful of Chinese food suddenly levitating was to furrow his brow, then reach into his pocket for his cigarette case.

Christine laughed.

By the time they'd reached the porch, Javert had a cigarette rolled. He tapped its butt against his lighter a few times, then put it in his mouth and flicked the lighter open.

Jareth set the food down on the table. Then he paused, tilted his head, and snapped his fingers.

Glitter vanished.

* * *

Sarah abandoned her hunan beef to watch as Jareth wathced over Red.

Red had been her constant companion since the moment she'd left home for college. He had never been like this before. Jareth's presence had gotten him to stop growling, but he still didn't seem to notice much.

Jareth ran a hand through the goblin's hair. A soup container slid along the kitchen table to rest near the little goblin.

Red kicked his feet aimlessly. He didn't even turn his head to look at the table. He stared on into what must either have been forever or nothing, gaze distant and unfocused.

Sarah's heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She missed the mischievous, easily-amused little rascal she'd known for the past year.

"He's... he's not coming back, is he?"

Jareth opened the soup container. A spoon appeared in his hand. He shook his wrist and glitter vanished again.

After several attempts - finally culminating in pressing his thumbs into the hinge of Red's jaw - Jareth got Red to open his mouth.

Red still had a swallow reflex.

"...no," Jareth said, after a long moment of silence. "He is alive but lifeless. It might be more merciful to end this."


	4. spoonfeed our adorable remorse

The other residents ate. Jareth watched over Red. And Sarah registered almsot none of it. She felt like she was moving in a fog. Some distant part of her was snapping and crackling, hotly and sharply angry at the very idea of giving up on Red. But the rest of her simply couldn't process it.

It was too huge. Red was gone. The little goblin sitting next to her was an empty shell, and Jareth genuinely belived he always would be. He would never simply give up on one of his subjects. Not if the stiff restraint that underlay his every movement was any indication.

He was livid, or maybe distraught, or maybe something else entirely. But whatever he felt, it was intense, and he was bottling it up. Throttling it down.

Maybe he was in as much of a fog as she was.

Later, in the living room, he stared at Red for a minute that stretched on and on. He'd had to levitate the little goblin into the room.

Jareth wrapped his fingers around Red's tiny wrist, lifted his arm, and moved so that Red's hand was positioned directly over Red's face.

Then he let go.

Red's hand dropped limply, the back of his hand smacking onto the bridge of his nose and covering his unseeing eyes.

"Coma," said Erik, very quietly, from behind them.

Sarah jumped. Jareth only turned. His gaze flicked to take in Erik, then he turned back to Red.

Sarah sighed. "What was that, Erik? How can you be so sure?"

"Short of jabbing the little creature with a pin, his Majesty has just performed the surest cliical test for a coma. Were there any vestige of the creature's mind within, it would have moved its arm even slighhtly. "

"Red's not an it," she said automatically. At Erik's apologestic shrug, she asked, "Where'd you learn that thing about comas?"

"I have had a long time to learn much." Erik moved to stand beside her. "Is it not possible he will wake?"

"I'll banish him to my realm. Being surrounded by magic may awaken him." Jareth looked away from Red again. He turned his regard on Erik, brow arching in a sardonic expression.

But Sarah saw the way he clenched his jaw for a moment.

"I _request_ a moment alone with Sarah." His tone brooked no refusal.

Erik nodded and left, heading back toward the kitchen.

"You don't think Red will wake up."

"Hope springs eternal," Jareth said, very softly. "Actually, Sarah, I want a moment alone. I just didn't like the homicidal maniac standing that close to you."

Which could have been protectiveness or possessiveness. And right now, Sarah didn't have the heart to start an argument about which it was, and why neither was appropriate.

Instead, she retreated to the third floor.

She closed the door to her room, threw the old-style bolt, and curled up on the bed with the canopy. Just like she'd always dreamed.

Sarah lifted a pillow to cover her face and stifle any noise.

And then she let herself cry.

* * *

She dreamed an empty blue sky. Tall buildings leaned and pointed up, like mismatched and snaggly teeth.

She took a step off a ledge.

In the dream, she never hit the ground. The ledge just got higher and higher above as the buildings grew taller and taller.

* * *

When she headed down to the kitchen, Jareth and Erik were seated at the kitchen table. They looked almost companionable. Or they would have, if Jareth hadn't looked the closest to miserable she'd ever seen him.

He sat staring into a mug of coffee, one leg crossed over the other. His brow had hooked in contemplation, while his mouth shaped an elegant frown.

"Jareth?"

He tensed. She saw him tense. Guilt and disappointment pricked at her insides. It was crazy; he was the least trustworthy, least likeable person she'd ever met. And yet she didn't want him to tense up whenever he saw her.

"Red's... gone, isn't he?"

"Yes," he said. "We shall see if being Underground restores him."

Erik sipped something that was probably tea, considering the dainty cup.

"Erik, can I talk to Jareth a minute?"

Erik lifted his cup in a sort of laden-handed salute and stood. He was gone within moments, opening the cellar door with one hand and prudent use of his feet.

"I'm sorry," she told Jareth when the basement door had swung closed.

Jareth replied, tonelessly, "You didn't know."

"Well I damn well should have figured it out."

"Could, should, would... didn't. What's done is done. He will wake or he won't."

Sarah reached out to grasp his shoulder. She realized that her hands were shaking. At the big blankness that threatened to swallow her whole when she tried to imagine Red forever still, forever silent, never to throw another noisy tech item out another window? At Jareth's strange, bottled up lack of reaction? Or at the prospect of having to touch or comfort the Goblin King?

He caught her wrist before she could touch him. "Don't, Sarah. Not now. For now..."

He laughed without the cruel edge she'd heard in his voice the last few times she'd encountered him. But it was also without mirth.

So she left him alone.

* * *

Sarah tried to keep a low profile for the next few days. She talked to Hoggle and Didymus in her mirror — Ludo was never near a reflecting surface these days — but the conversations never lasted long.

Every conversation turned strange after a few minutes. Sometimes Hoggle's eyes would look wrong, or she would swear that Didymus had said something he ordinarily wouldn't.

The best ones simply ended because the mirror simply... stopped working. The image of Hoggle or Didymus would ripple like a disturbed pond, and then she would find herself talking to her own reflection.

She tried to avoid Jareth, who seemed tense the entire time. His every action was controlled, restrained. He didn't make a single double entendre and his other cutting remarks seemed fewer and fewer.

So she spent time with Christine, learning the story of the last great days of the Opera Populaire. And comparing musical theatre cred; not that she could really hold her own against an opera singer.

* * *

After a week, Sarah marched into the first floor sitting room. She found Jareth there. He lay on the couch, toying with a single spell crystal, the picture of boredom.

No. The picture of indolence, ennui, and melancholy. Admittedly, he would have made a better picture had the couch not been treating the ceiling as the floor.

"How is Red?"

"Minor improvement. He will wake or he won't."

Sarah nodded. Good. Actually, part of her was ecstatic. And if there was even a little bit of good news, this was going to be easier.

"Jareth," she said. "I'm going to skip class today."

He looked back to his crystal. He didn't say anything, but the set of his shoulders and the way he angled his face away implied, very clearly, that she was free to do as she wished. He didn't care right now.

"I'm going to the apple farm." She hesitated a moment. "You're coming with me."

He did look up at that. "Am I?"

"Equal footing, Jareth."

"And why do you want me to go apple-picking with you, when you've avoided my company for days?" His eyes narroweed. "What do you get out of this, precious thing?"

"You're making me nervous, Gobl — Jareth."

His lips curved. "Did you just nearly call me by my title? And thus, nearly allow me to call you whatever I wished?"

* * *

An hour later, she unlocked her little Rio, with Jareth and Christine in tow. Christine took shotgun, while Jareth lounged in the backseat and looked only slightly interested in what was going on around him.

Sarah connected her iPod into the auxiliary audio jack and pulled her GPS out from under the driver's seat.

Within a couple of minutes, they were on their way to the nearest apple orchard. The iPod shuffled through her music, playing Quiet Riot or Van Halen for one song and Haydn the next.

The apple orchard turned out to be several fields of apple trees. Sarah followed a gravel to a store that looked like a farmhouse.

Jareth looked at the rows and rows of fruit trees. They seemed to stretch off into the horizon, all the way to the smudges in the distance that were the Appalachians.

Once inside, they grabbed several baskets. The unlucky bastard set to watching the store lifted an eyebrow at Jareth. Then again, she probably didn't see very many people who dresseed like they'd done a smash-and-grab of fashions from 80's glam metal, 90's grunge/DIY punk, and the emo/Hipster scene. At least he wasn't wearing plaid. Or spikes.

He was definitely leaving little trails of glitter on the floor, though. Sarah tilted her head, realized that he wasn't wearing anything visibly sparkly, and decided she didn't want to know.

"You gonna revive hair metal?" The store-watcher asked.

To his credit, Jareth hardly skipped a beat. His hesitation lasted only a fraction of a moment.

Then he curled a slow, satisfied smile and practically purred, "Would you like me to?"

The woman laughed. "Not sure my heart could take it."

"What," Jareth asked, once they were wandering the trees, "is hair metal?"

"Very fast, energetic music played by bands full of people with wild hair wearing sparkly things and eye-catching makeup. A lot of what we heard in the car was hair metal."

"I see," Jareth said, just before Christine popped out from behind a tree.

"My basket's full," Christine said, "but I'm not ready to go yet."

"We could try the corn maze?"

It was amazing how something so simple could pique Jareth's interest before he'd seen it... and how poorly his disdain - once he had seen the maze - hid his desire to solve it.

She couldn't really blame him for sneering about the corn maze. Compared to the Labyrinth, it looked astoundingly simple. Just rows and rows of identical, featureless corn.

They spent a good forty minutes on its twists and turns before they had any sign of the maze changing. Christine gradually grew more frustrated.

"It's just corn! How can it be so hard?"

"Because it's all just corn," Sarah said, tone dry. After a moment, she added, "It all looks exactly the same, and it's so boring that you don't want to look to closely anyway."

Jareth had gone quiet. Instead, he was peering around the corn. His eyes were intent, focused. His mouth widened into a happier smirk than he usually wore.

He stretched. The gesture looked totally normal, or at least not any more magical than a guy with 80's hair wearing glitter and black jeans that left nothing to the imagination would usually look.

And yet something unseen whispered along Sarah's skin and left faint rushing noises in her ears. She got the sense of something invisible unfurling as he moved.

"I like this place. We should come back, precious thing," Jareth purred.

"Am I detecting a fetish for mazes and labyrinths, Goblin King?"

Sarah stopped, realizing what her last two words had been. It had been automatic. He called her precious; she tried to distance the two of them by retreating to titles.

Only now that didn't work.

Jareth's smile turned positively wicked. "Shall I tell you my fetishes, Goblin Queen?"

God, she'd walked right into this one, hadn't she? Sarah had never felt more like an idiot in her life. And that was including the moment when she'd realized that the Labyrinth had been erasing her lipstick marks.

"Let's just get a move on, Jareth. Christine has an afternoon class she doesn't want to cut."

Jareth's more normal-looking eye glinted. "As you wish... precious."

* * *

They spent another hour or so just aimlessly walking. At some point, Christine started to sing an aria. It was an intricate melody, full of pitch jumps that switched back, with complicated held, trilled, or modified lines.

Sarah tried to track what it might look like written down and almost laughed. The sheet music would have looked like a nearly impenetrable maze.

She knew coloratura sopranos were supposed to handle complicated, intriciate melodies. But still.

"Who taught you to sing like that?"

Christine smiled, but it wasn't the usual bright, full expression. It seemed sadder, a little more distant.

"Erik," she said.

But after that she didn't sing any more intricate arias. Sarah almost wished she would.

On the other hand, Christine started up their running game of Musical Theatre Cred with an impish smile. It was an easy game: one would sing a line or two from a musical, and the other would either sing the harmony or sing a similar piece written by a different composer.

It was sort of like tossing a ball back and forth. A ball made of music.

Jareth was the one who kept them something like on track. Sarah was laughing (and sometimes singing) too hard to focus on the maze, and Christine had long given up on the place.

The sun was high in the sky when they finally reached the end of it.

"Surprisingly enjoyable," Jareth drawled, "for an unchanging hedge maze."

Christine grinned at them both. Sarah found herself grinning back.

Okay, so Jareth had just had to go for the snide, 'mortals will never be as awesome as me,' crap. But he'd clearly had fun, and she and Christine had had fun.

She would count this one as a win.

"Perhaps it was the company." Jareth said it in a musing, casual tone, but if Sarah knew him at all, the statement had been deliberate.

And then they caught sight of the chalkboard at the maze's exit.

On weekend nights, it announced, their humble corn maze became a "Haunted Maze Amazing Race." Races started at sundown and went until "everybody was out of the corn."

"We're coming back for that," Christine said. "The whole house."

Sarah tried to imagine Jareth's - or, for that matter, Erik's - reaction to people jumping out at them in the dark with revving chainsaws or machetes or torches.

Nope. There was no way Christine could talk her into coming back for that.

"We'll see," she replied. "Come on, let's go pay for our apples and get you back to the house."

* * *

Erik was waiting for them in the front room. Sarah couldn't see most of his face thanks to the mask, but the half she could see looked livid. He'd gone pale and his eyes were narrowed, mouth drawn down into half a snarl. He was threading a length of rope between his hands, winding and unwinding it into an intricate knot that looked like a noose to her.

His hands were shaking.

"You," he said to Christine, "missed my class. And _you_." Erik turned the full brunt of his wrath on Jareth.

For once, Jareth didn't bother radiating innocence. He simply crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Moving my organ, I can forgive this once. I can live with the glitter, if you clean the noxious substance away. But please have the basic respect for our landlady and the other tenants not to _play havoc with the very architecture_."

Jareth arched his eyebrow higher.

Erik clenched the rope in one fist and pointed.

They all turned to look.

Erik was pointing at a door. A door in the far wall of the living room that hadn't been there yesterday. In fact, it hadn't been there when they'd left the house that morning.


End file.
